Behind the arras, of your stoutest men
All close and soundly arm'd; and let them share[135]
A spirit amongst them that would serve a thousand.
Enter Pero with a letter.
Gui. Yet, stay a little: see, she sends for you.
Mons. Poore, loving lady, she'le make all good yet;
Think you not so, my lord? Mont[surry] stabs Pero, and exit.
Gui. Alas, poore soule!
Mons. This was cruelly done, y'faith.
Pero. T'was nobly done; [140]